


The Heir and the girl he has a crush on

by cresscaptain



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - Royalty, Angst because I like it, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jon is the crown prince of England, Sansa is from Germany, they are not related
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-04-24 08:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14351721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresscaptain/pseuds/cresscaptain
Summary: Sansa Stark is going to the University of Scotland on a scholarship and couldn't be more excited. Her father instructs her not to date unless she manages to find a prince, but what happens when she does?





	1. On the throne

Preface: So, I have never seen, met or, God forbid, fallen in love with a member of the royal family. This story will not be based on my own life’s story. Sorry.  
I therefore do not know much about how they would behave should you meet them. Any details concerning the royal family’s security or how they conduct themselves will be entirely fictional. If you do see a detail that in your eyes is unforgivably wrong, please do feel free to leave me a comment stating the problem and I will look into it.  
I have also not, a lot less likely, I know, attended a University anywhere in the UK. Both Jon and Sansa are attending the ‘University of Scotland’, which, you guessed it, does not exist. I have exclusively attended University online, so I don’t have any experiences in general.  
Jon holds the title of ‘Prince of Wales’, which means he is next in line of succession to the crown of England (in this story, mind you.)  
This story is loosely, I repeat, loosely inspired by the love story between William and Kate. Don’t expect too many similarities.

Author’s note: I know, you had to go through all that preface and now you have to read an author’s note, all for such a short chapter! I just wanted to take a short moment to say that I don’t know how regularly I’ll be updating. I’m working on an independent creative writing project (which is a fancy way of saying that I’m working on a novel) and I’m stuck in the early stages of editing. When it goes bad, my other stories (namely these) win. When my manuscript goes well, I win.  
If anyone has any tips concerning editing, writing or anything in general, I WOULD BE HAPPY TO HEAR THEM. I have literally no support and it’s taking a toll on my wobbly mental health. Also, my book is simply shite.  
Okay, now let’s get on with this (pitifully short) chapter.

German translation guide:  
Ich bin zurück bevor du merkst, dass ich weg war. – I’ll be back before you realize I was gone.

 

Sansa

The fact that she was leaving home clearly hadn’t hit her mother yet.

They were standing at the airport, four hours away from her hometown. Her father was carrying her massive trunk while she carried her large backpack on her back. Her mother had gotten off with the easiest load: she was carrying Sansa’s small backpack over one shoulder.

It was busy in the airport: people were going all over the place, to all different kinds of places. Sansa had dreamed of this day and this very airport for years, and now she was torn between skipping happily and clinging to her parents, begging them not to make her go.

She, small-town Sansa Stark, daughter of a couple who ran a small business in her hometown of Winterfell, was going to the University of Scotland (on a scholarship no less: she was still proud, and a little baffled on how she had managed that) and finally leaving it all behind.

Not that her life had been (up to this point) pretty leave-behind-able. She’d had a comfortable life and she loved her family.

There was just the intense feeling of Wanderlust always on her chest, and now she could follow her heart to the University she had ogled so often since seventh year.

Her mother was talking excitedly about her new life in the dorms while her father trotted after them, looking stricken. She felt bad that he was going to lose his little girl, but not bad enough to stay forever. There was a bit of guilt still balled up in her chest, but she tried to push it aside.

Attempting to ignore her mother’s happy chit-chat, she falls behind with her father.

“Papa,” she said, “Ich bin zurück bevor du merkst, dass ich weg war.”

He smiled sadly back at her, shaking his head. A tear slipped down his cheek and she turned away.

It was bittersweet, this moment she had always dreamed of. She felt like crying now, too, and she didn’t want to. Instead, she wrapped a tight arm around her father (as best she could with her trunk on his back) and held on to him the rest of the way so that they could check in her stuff.

Sansa felt a little guilty at the relief that coursed through her veins when she heard that her plane was boarding. They had just been standing about awkwardly after dropping off her trunk and backpack, getting caught up in the reality they now faced: not seeing each other very much at all and although she would miss her family fiercely, she didn’t want to cry when this should be an occasion to be happy.

“This is me,” she said, switching into her mother’s preferred language, English. Although her parents were both German born and raised, they had met on a Study Abroad exchange in London and had decided to raise their children bilingual.

Her mother was still nodding and smiling when Sansa hugged her, wrapping both her arms around her as tightly as she had when she’d still been a little girl. She had already said goodbye to all her brothers this morning, because they had school, and her brother Robb over Skype, as he was away for University as well.

“Don’t make any bad decisions,” her mother advised as a last minute tip. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. If you can’t handle it, that’s fine. You come home any time you like, we’ll pay for the flight. We love you and we’re proud of you no matter what.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sansa mumbled into her shoulder, too busy soaking up the feel of her hug to really listen.

Her father was really crying when they hugged. He whispered a small little ‘I love you’ into her hair, then let her go and touched her face.

“Don’t date,” he instructed. She laughed, which was better than crying.

“Your father doesn’t mean that.”

“I do.” He took her by the shoulders. “Unless you find an actual prince, I’m not letting anyone near my princess.”

“Your father means that you should choose your men wisely.”

“…By not choosing any.”

She pried his hands from her shoulders gently and kissed one of them. “I really have to go now.”

Sansa watched them wave as she boarded the plane. It was just as stuffy as it had been in the airport.

The sky was grey, but that didn’t matter. At this moment, her future looked bright.

She allowed herself a smile.


	2. Duke of Edinburgh

Author’s note: Yes, my manuscript is still going terribly. Any advice would be great, literally any at all. I’m getting desperate.  
Thank you for all those who have commented. I know I never reply (unless you ask a question, then I will), but I see you all, especially when I’m feeling down. It reminds me to stay motivated, so if you want me to keep writing…I’m just saying :)  
Small tip: If I’ve been gone from my work for too long, comments give me the perfect guilt trip to get back in. If you ever want a specific story of mine updated, give me a shout through a comment. Seriously. I could name the chapters after comments nowadays.  
Sorry for the long author’s note. I’m a chatty person.  
Let’s do this.

 

Jon

His grandma hugged him with all the force she could muster up. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

He felt himself getting a little choked up. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

Glancing down at her, he saw what everyone else always saw as well: a small, elderly wrinkled woman (in her eighties already) with gray hair and a small and delicate frame as well as a cute collection of hats who waved at people all the time. To him she was his old Nan, the only family he had ever known.

After her husband had died when she was young, his Nan had never remarried, instead relying on her only son Rhaegar to carry on the line of succession. When he had suddenly died in a car crash, she was left with nothing in her early fifties, no family, and no succession.

A couple of private investigators managed to identify the woman Rhaegar had been in the care with, Lyanna. They also managed to trace the woman’s history to a one-month-old, left in the care of a babysitter at the time. After a DNA test, the child was found to have been fathered by Rhaegar himself.

The battle that the queen fought was complicated, but she was determined. Everyone had been torn about this new baby: on the one hand, it was a relief that there was another child in direct succession, on the other hand, Rhaegar had not been married (or had intended to marry) the mother of his child. For all intents and purposes, both Lyanna and the boy named Jon Snow were strangers.

But the queen hadn’t given up. She’d had him legitimized and then named him Jon Targaryen, Prince of Wales, the direct heir to the throne. She raised him like a son and slowly, society had come to accept him.

Fake it until you make it, his Nan had told him when he’d felt unsure in public. It had worked, mostly: he felt a lot more confident.

Confident enough to go to University two years in a row. It was his junior year now and he was dreading it. Most of the students had become somewhat comfortable with having their future king around them at all times, but new freshman students would arrive and the three months of awkward looks would begin again.

Fake it until you make it, he repeated.

His Nan pulled back and pressed a kiss on both his cheeks and his forehead. He felt bad, like always, for leaving her: they were all they had left to each other.

Knowing what he was worrying about, she smiled and stroked his cheek. “If you’re so worried about me, you can start working on the line of succession.”

He laughed. “I’m not going to make you a grandchild because you heap some guilt on me.”

She pulled a quick face. “Well. I must draw up an elaborate plan then, how to make you produce some heirs. This is what I have ministers for, after all.”

Instead of laughing again, he felt a little choked up. As a way of answer, he wrapped his arms around her again.

She patted his back. “It’s going to be a breeze until we see each other again. Holidays are just around the corner. And if you want to bloody visit me on the weekends, we should be able to manage. We are the royal family for a reason.”

Jon chuckled at the swear word. When he was fifteen, he’d gone through an extreme cursing face, adding a swear word to everything. To give him a taste of his own medicine, she’d taken it up as well and he’d been so horrified that he’d stopped.

She hadn’t.

Now he looked around the room. It was large and airy in the palace and his room was no different. It had three separate windows, a huge bed and elaborate furniture full of everything a boy could want, from sports equipment to fancy clothes, and a sofa they were now sitting on. There was also bookshelf upon bookshelf, which an adult Jon appreciated.

Adult Jon also often glanced around his room, wondering what would have happened had his parents survived. It was clear from the million private detectives the queen had hired to investigate the Jon situation that his father, the actual Prince of Wales, had no intention of telling the public about either his son or his…whatever his mother had been to him.

Would he have lived in the crappy one-bedroom flat he’d been found in, destined for nothing but a labour job with crappy pay?

Instead, he’d gone to the best schools and had had an excellent life with his Nan in a palace.

Now she squeezed his shoulder to get his attention. “You get so emotional when you go away to University, I would think you’re the old lady.”

“You’re not old, you’re vintage,” he repeated automatically, smiling down at her.

“That’s right. And we must be going, if you don’t want to miss your first day.”

He nodded, but they both rested on the sofa a little while longer.

Finally she said, in a quiet voice, “It’s going to be lonely around here.”

The lump in his throat grew.

“Well,” she said, getting up, “nothing to be done about it.”

He got up too, towering over her. “I love you.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. His absence was harder for her than she would ever admit, which made his heart heavier.

There was a knock on the door. “Pardon me, your majesty, but we really must get going.”

The door opened and in came Davos, Jon’s bodyguard for several years now.

Jon nodded and brushed imaginary dust from his jacket while Davos bowed to the queen. It was not unusual for Davos to be in his room or meeting the queen – having to follow Jon everywhere had made him very acquainted with those parts especially.

Jon even suspected they’d secretly become good friends.

Davos was already a little older, but Jon liked him a lot. Having never had a proper father figure, Davos had been a more accidental fit for the role, but they still played rugby together often and Jon considered him amongst his best friends.

His Nan now patted his arm once more, before sighing deeply, straightening her head and walking out of the bedroom like the queen she was.

He stood there, a little lost, before he, too, straightened.

Fake it until you make it.


	3. The Prince of Wales

Author’s note: No, my manuscript is still awful. Again, any writing/editing tips highly needed and appreciated.  
Mace Tyrell is actually Lord Paramount of the Reach (of which the Regional Capital is Highgarden). Lord Paramount means that he rules it on behalf of the Iron Throne. I have made ‘Lord’ more of an honorary title and reduced the Reach to Highgarden, a grand estate, and some lands around it. Don’t get me wrong, the Tyrells are still rich, rich, rich.  
I also have no idea who uses bodyguards, so I’ll make up my own rules.

 

Sansa

It had been a long and exhausting journey.

She’d flown out to Edinburgh and then come to the University per bus, which had taken longer than expected, and now, in the late afternoon, she was finally standing in the door to her very own dorm room.

And scared absolutely shitless.

The dorm was a little bigger than expected. There were two beds opposite each other in the corner in the front, leaving space for a wardrobe to be in between the bed and the wall. Then there came a desk with shelving areas above it, all identically mirrored on the other side.

The room itself was a beige colour, which lit up the room, especially with the late-afternoon sun coming through the window opposite the door, directly in the middle of both areas, but the colour itself wasn’t a very good one, looking a little more like someone had been sick.

On the bed on the right side, there was already a suitcase – actually several. Clothes were strewn all across the floor, but there was no one present.

Sansa looked down at her roommate sheet. Her former roommate had canceled the dorm last minute so she had gotten one assigned only days ago and had not had the time to contact her.

Margaery Tyrell, it said in her own handwriting. This was all she knew about her roommate: her name.

In order to relieve her back and her arms from their workload, she set down her three packs on her own bed and dropped down beside them. She had neither the energy nor the will to start unpacking now.

Just as she became dangerously close to falling asleep, a girl came rushing in.

She was stunning. The girl (she was more of a woman, really) had shiny brown hair and beautiful eyes. Her body was incredible and beautifully displayed in a blue dress with a deep neckline.

“You must be Sansa!” she said eagerly. “Sorry, I already took one of the beds.”

“That’s alright,” Sansa mumbled, still half asleep. “Nice to meet you.”

Margaery – presumably – giggled. “Well, you clearly are tired. I’ll let you settle in.”

That was the first encounter of what Sansa knew would be her closest relationship in University – whether she liked it or not.

It was a good start, she mused with her head on the pillow that didn’t have a sheet yet. A good start.

 

Over the next couple of days, Sansa felt barely a different emotion but stress. There was stress to find the dining hall, the stress of finding someone to sit with, the stress of all the new classes, including but not limited to finding said classes, new teachers and new subjects, and the stress of bonding with her new roommate.

Sansa was relieved to find Margaery as a kind of anchor. She found herself dangerously close to being overwhelmed by all the new elements in her society, but when she was about to break down, Margaery was always there with something silly (that was never meant to be silly – Margaery was always honest, her ideas were just a little…strange).

Margaery had been brought up in privilege. Her father was Lord of the Reach and while it was mostly an honorary title descending from a long line of people who had dined and talked with Kings and Queens (and had also been beheaded by them), she clearly had been told from a very young age that she was something special.

It was also from her that Sansa heard the biggest piece of discussion in the freshman class.

“Did you know,” she said on Monday in the second week, her eyes shining, while Sansa was working (and mostly trying not to have a breakdown) on one of her first assignments, “that the Crown Prince of England, the Prince of Wales, goes to this University?”

Sansa had heard this. She had read it in an article when she was applying and pushed it to the back of her mind. It hadn’t really mattered then.

Now, when she was trying not to cry and it meant a distraction, it did matter.

“Oh?” Sansa asked.

Margaery nodded. “And his future wife goes here too.” She paused for dramatic effect, then squealed, “it’s me!”

Sansa whirled around to where Margaery was sitting on her bed. “You’re engaged to the future King of England?”

She bit her lip. “Well, not yet…”

“You’re dating the future King of England?”

Margaery sighed. “Not yet, but those are all formalities. My mother managed to marry high: she was a normal girl and now she’s a titled lady with lands. And why would I settle for a Lord when the Crown Prince goes to the same school as I?”

It all sounded a little like Margaery had forgotten that the twenty-first century had begun. “Okay,” Sansa simply said.

Margaery shook her head. “I’m not just marrying him for status, I heard he’s a real sweetheart, but…a Crown prince? I could be a queen!”

Sansa nodded slowly, turning back to her homework. “Is that so, your Majesty? Must I kiss your feet now or will it suffice to let you step on me on your way to the dining hall?”

She ducked when Margaery threw one of the many items of clothing at her that had not yet been put away.

They were becoming close friends, despite Margaery’s tendencies to go a little overboard.

 

She was hit on for the first time in her third week.

It was a new experience. Although guys had expressed interest in her before, they had never been so blatant about it as Joffrey Baratheon who took one of her classes and made sure everyone knew he thought he was too good for it and did you see, his very own bodyguard because he was so important.

Bronn, his bodyguard, rolled his eyes. Apparently, the last one had told Joffrey to ‘go fuck himself’ and had left, at least according to a news sight Missandei, her neighbour in that same class and one of her new friends, showed her.

He had walked up to her after class, all ridiculous swagger. “You and I will have dinner on Saturday,” he said with a leer.

She just stared for a second before she realized that yes, they were really doing this.

“No, we’re not, sorry,” she said.

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“I didn’t agree to have dinner with you.”

Joffrey proceeded to sigh like she was stupid. “That’s why I told you. Women really should listen to men more, they’re the superior decision-makers.”

“I’m not going.”

“I’m a Lord…Of a grand estate…” He smiled like he was waving a shiny toy in front of her.

“And? I’m sorry, but I’m not having dinner with you.”

His expression had turned flabbergasted then. “But – but – why not?”

“Because I don’t want to. I really am very sorry, I’m swamped right now.”

He had looked like he’d been about to add something to his tirade, so Sansa pointed at something in the distance like someone was waiting for her or something, mouthed ‘sorry’ and fled.

The second time had been a little nicer. The guy, a young sophomore named Harry Hardyng, was a lot more attractive than Joffrey had been. But being swamped with work really hadn’t been a lie (she had to hold her scholarship, after all) and so she had turned him down. After he hadn’t been as understanding as she’d expected and after she heard he’d already slept with twelve freshman girls, she felt glad about it.

By her fifth week, she still didn’t feel comfortable per se in the environment, but she felt like she wasn’t constantly on the verge of tears. Margaery had become a genuinely good friend, a couple of others (like Missandei) had turned from strangers to study partners to friends and she could find the dining hall, all her classes and back to her dorm, something she appreciated.

She did study a crazy amount. Everything was always heaping up on everything else. Her assignments were due around the same time and she had to work long hours to get them all done.

One night in particular she was sitting in the library late in the evening, already wearing a checkered pyjama bottom and a black tank top, studying over a book. Her eyes were falling shut.

There were a couple of other students still in the room, but most had already left.

The library was one of her favourite places to be. It had a very cozy environment with nearly no windows, creating a sort of gloom that worked perfectly with all the bookshelves full of old-looking books.

Sansa got up, placed the book she had been using back and started hunting for the other one that sounded promising. Finally, she located it, on top of a shelf.

Even she wasn’t that tall.

Looking around for a ladder and not finding one, she tried the embarrassing jump-reaching technique. It didn’t work.

“Allow me,” a voice came from behind her. She turned.

In the gloomy light of the library, she could just make out a man (definitely not a freshman) with curly dark hair and pale skin. He was smiling at her.

With one go, he reached over her, touching his chest to her back, and picked the book off of the shelf.

“Oh,” she said a little dumbly when he handed it to her, “thank you.”

He smiled again. Was that a wink? Why was the light so dim here?

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” His words were strongly punctuated by what she had now learned to identify as a London area accent.

“No,” she answered, before remembering something. “Actually, the guidelines to the paper we need to write are a little vague. Could you maybe…if you don’t have anything pressing to do, that is…help me with those?”

His eyes twinkled. “I can.”

Together they walked back to her table where she had spread everything she needed (and everything she had) for the assignment. She stretched out her hand. “I’m Sansa.”

“Jon.”

“Okay, Jon,” she handed him the task, “do you know what she means?”

He was quiet while he read it, his eyes darting back and forth across the page. Sansa wanted to sit down, but he wasn’t and she didn’t want to be rude. Looking down at his clothes, he was a lot more well-dressed in jeans and a striped jumper. Her pyjamas made her feel awkward all of a sudden.

“Oh, I have an idea,” he finally said. Then he proceeded to launch into an explanation.

After a while and noting her expression, he laughed. “Did that help or did I make it worse?”

“You helped,” she said. “I don’t know to what extent, but you helped.”

He laughed. It was a startling sound, though not unpleasant. “Well, if there’s anything else I can help with, I’ll be around. Actually not, sorry, I was just about to leave, but maybe some other day.” With a last smile, he waved. “Bye, Sansa. Good luck.”

Before she had time to answer, he nodded at her and left, walking toward the exit of the library, where an older man stood. The man pushed off from the wall when Jon walked past him and together they finished the rest of the way to the exit.

The older man seemed familiar…

Sansa clamped a hand over her mouth as she recognized him. His name was Davos and she knew him from the various newspaper article photos Margaery had shown her of ‘her future husband’. Davos worked as the bodyguard to the Crown Prince.

Which meant that Jon…

Oh, God.

 

Extended author’s note: Does anyone want to guess what Jon and Sansa are studying?


	4. The Princess of Wales

Author’s note: This is a quick one, not because I have a lot to do (even though I do), just because this chapter is pretty quick. It’s also *cough* bad *cough*. (I’m not fishing for compliments, I just don’t have an objective view of my work so my immediate thought is that it is bad.)  
If anyone wants to discuss writing and/or editing, leave me your Tumblr down below!  
Also, thank you thank you THANK YOU for EternalFangirl. You are the first to answer my editing help call and quite frankly, I was getting desperate.  
Let’s do this, shall we?

 

Jon

University was kicking his butt.

Every year, he thought he had attending University down to a science. He knew exactly when to start which papers and when to start studying for what to be perfectly on time for everything.

Every year, he forgot to write down exactly how and had to begin by figuring out a new schedule.

Something he did remember is to stay away from the freshman class. He had kept to himself a lot these first few weeks. Still, he had felt the stares of new students looking after him, talking about him behind his back.

He felt like a circus attraction.

It didn’t help that there was a new professor in one of his English classes that kept calling him out, challenging him to answer questions on topics they hadn’t begun yet and he had no way of knowing. Every time he failed to find the correct answer, the professor would sigh and say, “Well, being royalty apparently doesn’t equal hard work or basic intelligence then, does it?”

He went red every time such an occurrence happened.

Davos, who had seen the whole thing, suggested reporting the professor, but Jon knew it was out of the question. It would make him an even bigger target.

All in all, these first few weeks had been tiring and frustrating.

Staying up late in the library also hadn’t been an ideal occurrence. There was a massive paper due for his History class that he had totally blanked on, and now he needed a couple of books.

He usually never visited the library. It was full of students that looked at him in a way that made him feel like a caged animal.

Still, he couldn’t resist helping a girl, probably a freshman, get down a book from one of the shelves. His Nan had absolutely not raised him to stand idly by when someone needed help he could provide.

Jon was aware that Davos was right there the whole time, watching, taking note of what was happening. He didn’t know if Davos approved or not and he tried not to care.

The girl, a cute redhead, thanked him in English that was slightly accented. He couldn’t detect where she was from, but it didn’t sound English.

His suspicions were confirmed when she asked his help to understand the essay task. It seemed quite easy, but the sentence structure of the actual task was strange and difficult, especially for someone that didn’t originally hail from an English-speaking country. But there was another, more important thing he realized during their interactions.

The girl didn’t know who he was.

She knew him simply as Jon, the guy who happened to be at the library when she needed help.

It was endearing and cute. It had been a while since he could just talk to someone without Jon always remembering in the back of his head that the person knew that one day, he’d be the bloody King of England.

(Hopefully not very soon, though.)

This illusion had been shattered pretty quickly. He saw her, Sansa, glance at him while he was walking out, saw her eyes widen when she saw Davos and then she looked at him, a shocked expression on her face. She knew now.

He didn't see anything more. Back in his dorm room, (that had been especially created for him. It was private and Davos could live with him) he’d half-heartedly done a bit of research on his laptop, thinking about how nice it had been to be Jon for a while. He usually only was Jon to Nan.

Maybe Davos, but he paid Davos.

Oh, well, he thought, sighing. It was fun while it lasted, and it’s not like I’m ever going to see her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> (Now comes the cringy self-promotion)  
> I have (just got) a blog in which I talk about my independent writing projects and about my own personal journey a little. Would you like to be friends? Come visit me! (See, told you it would be awkward)  
> https://wordpress.com/view/emilyann273239016.wordpress.com - sorry for all the numbers: I'm a struggling student who can't afford more.


	5. Princess Royal

Author’s Note: Hey, it’s me again. I don’t have a long absence to apologize for, but hear me out anyway.  
I now have a blog. If you are at all interested in me, my personal life and my private writing journey, by all means, look at it. The link is in the end notes. (You have to copy-and-paste because I don't know how links work.) It’s very new, don’t expect great things.  
If you’re not interested, that’s fine. Could you still maybe just look at it? It’s good for my self-esteem.  
Cheers.

 

Sansa

It was safe to say that Sansa was avoiding the library.

She hadn’t been back since she’d accidentally met the future King of England – Jon – and probably completely made a fool out of herself. That had been a week ago.

It was ridiculous, she told herself. She’d never seen him there before, so why would he be coming by regularly from now on?

Well, either way, she really didn’t want to see him again.

(Which was hard because Margaery collected articles from various gossip magazines and had hung them around her side of the dorm room. Every single one included at least one picture.)

But…she also really had to finish a paper.

For the week where she didn’t go to the library, she had either looked up reading materials online or not done her work at all – neither posing a permanent solution. And now she had met the bump in the road: one of the books she needed wasn’t found online. Or at least, one could only read it if selling your soul to the devil was something you were okay with for a school essay. Sansa was not.

So now, after dinner, with Margaery working on her school assignments (until her phone pinged with another notification, which usually didn’t take that long), there was nothing left to do but go to the library and find the book she needed. (And fast. The essay was due tomorrow and thinking of that gave Sansa a tight feeling in her chest.)

He’s not going to be there, she told herself. He probably has all the books he needs for his studies sent directly to his door because he could afford to do that.

It didn’t stop her from putting on a pair of jeans (for the first time in a while – why wear them in a place where it was totally acceptable to walk around in pyjama pants 24/7) and a nicer, actually clean shirt, which was rare these days. The laundry room was always packed and she hadn’t found a way to do her laundry otherwise yet, so she didn’t have quite as many clean clothes as she would have liked.

“Are you going on a date?” Margaery asked, sitting up. Her school things were scattered suspiciously far away from her. “Oh, I heard you were asked out by Joffrey. He is the heir to a major cooperation. Just imagine having a husband like that…nothing compared to having a Prince, of course, but it’s something.”

Sansa had almost completely forgotten about the young man who had asked her out. He’d grown more infuriating as she had seen more of him, commanding their teacher around and such, throwing around his title. She was very glad she’d rejected him, although he seemed to be of the opinion that she regretted it deeply and liked to flaunt it. The teacher seemed to be just about done with his antics, which Sansa could understand.

“No,” she said, opening her ponytail and redoing it in a messy bun, “I’m going to go to the library.”

“Oh!” This time, Margaery jumped off of her bed completely. “Do you fancy someone then? Someone caught your eye and you’re going to ‘study’ with them at the library? Been there, done that.”

“No, I’m just going to study. I have to finish an essay that is due tomorrow.”

“You’re quite fancy for a simple night of writing.”

“I just don’t think I should always be wearing sweatpants, and I’d like to dress up again. I used to do it all the time at home.”

Margaery really didn’t seem to believe that excuse, but she flopped down on her bed, counteracting her ladylike flowy by stretching out like a starfish. “Whatever you say.” She winked. “Be sure to give Mr. or Mrs. I-shouldn’t-always-wear-sweatpants my best.”

Sansa just knew that she would have a good answer to that snarky remark tomorrow in class, so instead she just rolled her eyes at Margaery, who didn’t seem to notice, and left.

 

It was a Friday night which, as Sansa had learned, meant that the library was empty despite looming deadlines and huge piles of homework. So far, she didn’t see a face that looked like the Crown Prince, thank God, so she immediately went to look for the book she needed, not wasting any time. Luckily, there was one copy of it left: she couldn’t be the last one trying to finish this essay at the last possible moment.

She settled in at a table with her notebook, her laptop, and the book, opening it and quickly locating the passage she needed. Quickly, she checked left and right, just to make sure the Prince’s curly head wasn’t hiding anywhere.

Just as she had put her pen on a page of her notebook, someone cleared his throat behind her. She shot around and there, lo and behold, stood the Prince of Wales.

“Hello,” he said. “Is this seat taken?”

She needed a second to realize that he was pointing at a chair on the right side beside her.

“N-no,” she said, stuttering over the word. “It’s not.”

He nodded and put the thick book he was holding under his arm on the table, sitting down. Like the first time they’d met, he was wearing jeans and a jumper. She felt glad that she wasn’t wearing pyjamas like the first time they’d met.

Awkwardly blushing, she tried to start taking notes, pulling the book closer to her while watching him out of the corner of her eye. He also opened his book, but he didn’t seem to have brought a pen or a laptop. Strange.

After several minutes of awkward silence in which she wondered why on earth he had chosen to sit next to her when there were so many free options to choose from that weren’t next to her, he cleared his throat.

“So…” he said, and Sansa’s cheeks became about a hundred degrees warmer, “I just wanted to…apologize. For last week.”

Surprised, she turned to face him fully. There was a curl in his eye and he, too, was blushing. She ducked her head immediately.

“Why?”

There was an awkward silence in which Sansa contemplated the correct way of addressing Jon – he had introduced himself as Jon, but she hadn’t known who he was then. Was she supposed to call him Prince of Wales, Crown Prince of England or simply Jon? Finally, Jon (maybe? Was it okay to call him Jon) broke it.

“Why I want to apologize?”

When she nodded – still with her head down – he continued. “I felt like I lied to you. Not on purpose, of course, but, well, you looked quite shocked when you found out who I was.”

She didn't realize he had seen her. Everything after finding out he was the Crown Prince was a little hazy.

Nervously, he ran a hand through his hair. Sansa was a little speechless. Was he apologizing for something she’d felt bad about for a whole week, something she’d started avoiding the library for?

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, still not looking him in the eye. “I reacted badly after I found out who you really are, and I shouldn’t have done that. You helped me, after all.”

He chuckled and caught her eye. The fact that he was looking at her made her feel exposed.

“I liked it,” he admitted.

“The panicked look on my face after I realized who you really are?” she asked dumbly.

That earned her a full laugh and it made her want to beam with pride.

“No, that you didn’t know who I was,” he finally answered. “Everyone always does, you know.”

She nodded, even though she didn’t know.

“It was…like a breath of fresh air,” he finished.

“Thank you?” she said, but her voice went up at the end, making it a question.

He smiled, looking away and back at his book. “That sounds weird, but…” A pause. “Never mind. It just sounds weird,”

She laughed and when she looked at him, he was smiling.

In that moment, the older man that Sansa knew was Jon’s bodyguard came over to their table from his watchful yet somewhat hidden place in a corner. He smiled at Sansa quickly before leaning over to talk to Jon.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but your grandmother, her majesty, made me sweat that I would make you video call her tonight. You forgot last time.”

Her majesty, Sansa thought. Like, the Queen of England. Jon’s grandmother.

“I’ll be right there,” he said, turning to Sansa. “As you heard, I have to go. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

He got up and picked up his book. Quickly, she jumped up as well.

“Wait!”

Both Jon and his bodyguard faced her quickly. Jon took a step toward her.

“What is it?”

She knew that her head must be as red as her hair. “What…what should I address you? I have called you Jon, but…”

Jon stared for a second, then he started laughing.

“Jon is still fine.”

“Thanks,” she said, willing her face to take on its usual colour.

He bend low and whispered, just for her to hear: “I will see you around, Princess Sansa. May I call you that? Sansa sounds too informal.”

Even though it sounded like an insult, the twinkle in his eye told her he was making a joke. Then, with one last wave, he was gone again, leaving Sansa to sort out what had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> (Now comes the cringy self-promotion)  
> I have (just got) a blog in which I talk about my independent writing projects and about my own personal journey a little. Would you like to be friends? Come visit me! (See, told you it would be awkward)  
> emilyann273239016.wordpress.com - sorry for all the numbers: I'm a struggling student who can't afford more.


	6. Duke of York

Author’s note: Hey guys, short chapter, but on purpose. I feel like this story calls for a couple of short chapters.  
It’s also not Jon POV. Don’t know why, honestly.  
Quick thing that is important to me: I have a blog now! It’s not gonna be Jonsa, it’s gonna be about me (sorry), but if you like my personality (chatty, slightly annoying, uses too many parentheses (no, I don’t!)) then follow me. It’s:  
https://emilyann273239016.wordpress.com  
Thanks!  
Also, the new royal baby has a name! 

 

Sansa

The next day, Sansa was still somewhat rattled from her second encounter with Jon. Of course, it shouldn’t be that surprising to run into a student who went to the same University, but Jon kept very much to himself and also, it was the Crown Prince. She felt like she could at least feel a little bit stunned.

Still, she tried to pay attention in class and not just picture Jon’s face in the library. He was handsome and smart.

Even though it might seem absurd to everyone else, these ‘crushes’ were normal to Sansa. At her school in Germany she’d had them all the time: the fleeting notion that someone made a good partner and feeling as though she had a crush on them. It went away after a couple of days, she knew. That’s what she told her heart when it clenched remembering Jon sitting next to her yesterday.

Still, at dinner, she had little to no appetite, and she didn’t see Margaery anywhere. This was normal, as Margaery decided every week that she was on some kind of fancy diet and ate according to certain meal plans. Sometimes this allowed going to the University’s dining hall to eat, but most of the time it meant eating some tasteless salad in the dorm room.

Normally, Sansa found a group of students to sit with that she attended classes with, but today, she really didn’t feel in the mood. Instead, she sat down alone at the end of a table, ignoring the group that had settled on the other end beyond the polite, ‘Can I sit here?’

The meal was spent sitting there, feeling grumpy about her situation. Working hard to keep her scholarship also meant making little to no friends outside of study groups and Margaery. Normally, this was enough for Sansa, but her bad mood made everything seem terrible.

Finally, she gave up and decided to go back to the dorm instead. If she was hungry later, maybe she could have a granola bar or something.

But when she opened the door, all thoughts of food left her mind once again. In the middle of the room, Margaery sat, papers spread all around her. She was writing something on a post-it.

Sansa closed the door as loudly as possible without actually slamming it, hoping Margaery would notice, but she didn’t. So instead, she chose to ask.

“What exactly are you doing?”

One thing she was sure of was that it was not a school project. Margaery never cared this much.

Now Margaery did look up, smiling like she’d just been waiting for someone to come in so she could explain exactly what she was doing.

“I, my dear Sansa, am going to get me a man.”

Sansa’s eyes quickly scanned the papers that were sprawled all over the place. In the middle of it all, there was a picture cut out of a gossip magazine of Jon’s face. Next to it were papers with headlines such as, Sansa knelt beside Margaery and squinted, ‘How to get a man’ and ‘How to drive him wild’, along with some X-rated ones.

“You want to seduce the Crown Prince?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Margaery’s eyes were bright and the smile on her face had a happy glint. She clearly was proud of herself. “No, I want to marry the Crown Prince.”

“Oh,” Sansa answered, not sure what to say. She continued to look at the collage of things Margaery had plastered across the floor.

“Will you help me?” Margaery asked casually while she marked something in a newspaper article with a highlighter. “Some of these techniques I can’t do by myself. Don’t worry, no sexy stuff.”

The wheels in Sansa’s head were turning, fast. She got a mild clenching in her heart at the thought of Jon in the dim light of the library, looking oh so beautiful.

It will pass, it will pass, she told her heart. It is a silly little dream because you've apparently read too many romance novels. It will pass.

But Margaery, flighty though she might be, was a real friend. She would not pass.

And why not help her?

“Of course,” Sansa said as Margaery resumed writing something.

When she said it, Margaery turned abruptly and hugged Sansa. “Thank you! You’re just the best!”

The bad feeling in her stomach would pass, too, Sansa told herself. She was probably hungry.

It was completely unrelated to what she had just agreed to.


	7. Duchess of York

Author’s note: I have never and (probably) will never seduce a rich guy or any guy for that matter. Everything it says about seduction is 100% fictional.  
Do you want to know more about my life apart from the fact that I have never seduced anyone? Visit me on my blog! (That was an excellent transition, I’m actually really proud of that.)  
It’s:  
https://emilyann273239016.wordpress.com  
Thanks!  
This is, again, a short update, but it’s the only thing I can currently manage. And soon, I’ll be going back to writing mostly original stories, which means I want to get as much done on my stories here as possible.  
So…enjoy it while it lasts? Short update is better than no update? Pick your favorite saying.

 

How to get a rich husband, or seduce the Crown Prince of England  
By Margaery Tyrell  
(Side-note: Can this be counted as an extra credit essay? Probably not.)

1\. Get his attention  
If he doesn’t know who you are, he’s not going to marry you.

2\. Get to know him better.  
Not quite sure yet what that step entails, but maybe studying together or something? The details are kind of loose as of now.

3\. Drive him wild.  
Give him a crush on you. Methods may vary ;)

4\. Make him ask you out.  
DO NOT ask him out. He must want it enough to ask you.

5\. Keep the dating going while keeping his attention.  
Present yourself as the perfect future queen while also being his perfect mate. Maybe you have to change for him – keep your eyes on the prize.

6\. Test the strength of your relationship and solidify it with a small nudge.  
Present a guy who might be opposition or your own ‘insecurities’. Not anything too rough. If he doesn’t budge, you got him.

7\. Give him everything that he wants without being a doormat. Be his perfect girl.

Then marry him.

You should be  
-always well-groomed, the ultimate polished self  
-pretty, feminine and conservative

Don’t  
-wear mini skirts or high heels. It doesn’t give him the right impression of you.

Show him you are special by  
-never being too impressed  
-make it seem like you’re the catch  
-make him work for your attention

If all else fails, have a convenient pregnancy, if real or made up.

 

Jon

“No, Nan, I’m not just eating garbage.”

His Nan’s face, obscured by her phone’s camera, looked concerned.

“Are you sure? I just saw this article online and it was talking about all the garbage they put into the food of University students…”

Jon sighed, then smiled. It seemed like such a typical thing for a grandma to worry about…until his Nan threatened to bribe the University just so her grandson would eat healthily.

“Yes Nan, I’m fine.”

“Are all your classes alright? Are any of the other children bullying you?” His Nan looked concerned again. In the background, he could just make out the torso of her bodyguard, probably getting ready to launch an attack if any student had so much as bumped Jon’s shoulder accidentally.

“I’m fine. They’re great. If anyone bullies me, Davos could beat them to a pulp.”

“I wouldn’t,” Davos called from the next room, “but I could!”

Jon rolled his eyes, then focused back on his Nan. Now that she had reassured herself that her baby boy was safe, her shoulders had returned to their rightful place and she was moving on to different topics.

“Have you met a girl?”

A quick picture of Sansa flashed in his mind, all rosy cheeks and red hair, flustered and adorable.

“No, Nan, no one.”

“Are you sure? I’m not getting any younger and I still haven’t seen a glimpse of great-grandbabies.”

There was a quick moment of silence following that statement. His Nan was still intently watching him and he tried his hardest to push Sansa away from the edges of his vision.

She was, if it came up to it, a friend, or someone he hoped to one day consider a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Right?

His Nan squinted. “Well, no wonder you don’t attract anyone. You’re looking more and more, what do the kids call it, 'emo' these days.”

He let out a surprised laugh, and that was that.


	8. Earl of Wessex

Author’s Note: Hello everybody. I’m currently super down because I not only just researched some degrees so I could move away from the town I’ve been stuck in for years and noticed that I could afford none of them (which means I either have to win the lottery or find a scholarship…the first one seems more likely). Also, I’m trying a new anxiety treatment and man, it sucks the life out of me…which means I can’t feel anxious anymore, so I guess it’s working?  
If you’ve just read it and noticed that I’m crying and saying, ‘I don’t want to’ for the last couple of minutes because there’s nothing I want to do but I’m still horribly bored and you want to cheer me up, well! You could leave a comment and/or give my blog a peek.  
https://emilyann273239016.wordpress.com  
Thanks!  
Sorry that this is so short.

Sansa

Margaery’s first step of seducing the Prince of Wales was to get his attention, and apparently, she desperately needed Sansa’s help for that.

“It’s going to be fun,” she promised. Sansa doubted it.

The plan was simple: through one of Margaery’s many sources, she had found out that Jon was going to visit a specific pub, known as ‘The boar and the stag’, that Saturday night. His bodyguard was having birthday drinks there with an old friend and Jon would tag along. “No wonder,” Margaery had said, “he is like a father to the prince.”

There, while the bodyguard would be occupied with (non-alcoholic) drinks, Margaery would get Jon’s attention. How wasn’t sure yet.

“I can always take my clothes off,” Margaery said flippantly, and while Sansa wasn’t sure it would work convincing Jon she was wife material, it would certainly be a statement.

It was probably also contradictory with what she was wearing, a lace white sundress that was just the right amount of classy and seductive. If Sansa had been a man, she probably would have approached her.

Sansa, instead, was simply wearing a rather tattered red dress, one of her favorites, with short sleeves and a modest neckline. When Margaery told her to maybe wear something a little more seductive (“I have to live vicariously through you, so hook up with a guy or girl please”), Sansa had declined. She didn’t want to seduce anyone. Seduction scared her.

Margaery had helped her apply a bit of makeup, which Sansa personally never wore herself. Not that she had anything against it in itself, it was mostly due to user error and lack of time.

Now, finally, they were ready to exit and go to the pub. It was several blocks away, as the pubs near the University were packed with students every day of the week and Jon probably wanted some privacy. Margaery had called them a lift, probably because of her ridiculously high shoes.

The ride was awkward, in Sansa’s opinion. Margaery didn’t seem to notice and prattled on and on about the prince, while Sansa was silent and wondered the entire time if she should tell her that she had met the Crown Prince on several occasions.

She chose not to, but it caused a lump in her throat.

It was dusk outside when they exited the car. The autumn days were still clinging to summer when it came to their length, so the light was muted, but the sun still shone. The pub that was their destination was almost full despite the distance to the University, so the first couple of minutes after arrival were spent with Margaery craning her neck to find the Prince’s curly head while Sansa wasn’t quite sure what to do. The pub felt cramped, the décor (which were mostly animals’ heads mounted on the wall) was off-putting and the whole place made Sansa want to shiver. No one else seemed to mind, though.

When the person in question was finally found, Margaery told Sansa to choose a place ‘quite close to them, but don’t be too obvious about it’, which left Sansa confused and simply approaching a corner close to Jon and his bodyguard, as well as another older man conversing with said bodyguard.

Jon looked incredibly uncomfortable in his seat, and Sansa understood why. Every single soul seemed to be watching him. Some were respectful and kept an eye on him from the corner of their eyes, others full-on stared. Most, Sansa noted, were of the female variety.

It took Jon only a couple of seconds to notice her in the corner. Instead of giving her a glare or something similar like she had feared, he smiled and waved her over. Davos looked up, instantly alert, but relaxed when he recognized Sansa.

Tentatively, she edged closer to their table, aware of all the looks she was getting.

“Hello,” Jon said, smiling broadly. He gestured at one of the many empty chairs at their table. She took it as the invitation it was and sat down, almost directly next to him. He leaned toward her almost immediately in such a quick and silent manner it made her feel like she would jump out of her skin in shock. He had also taken out a pen and was sketching something onto a napkin. It was disconcerting.

“New to the pub scene?” he asked. She didn’t see his face, as she was looking for Margaery in the crowd, but she heard the smile in his voice.

“Am I that obvious?” she responded, not being able to help herself.

He chuckled. “You look like a nervous deer.”

“A very attractive look, I’m sure.” She blushed right after she said it, but he laughed.

Davos tapped his watch. “So sorry to interrupt, and again for that matter, but we promised Shireen we’d visit her.” He gestured toward the older man with whom he had just talked.

Jon nodded, and Sansa couldn’t help but thank Davos for his excellent timing. Margaery had just spotted them. She had two drinks in her hands and a shit-eating grin on her face.

“So sorry,” Jon said to Sansa, “to leave again. But,” he hesitated, “if you ever need an opportunity to talk to me uninterruptedly, well…” He slid the napkin he'd been scribbling on toward her. On it, there was a number.

His phone number.

The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur after that. Most of the time, Sansa would clutch the napkin closely. She had his phone number.

Even the fact that Margaery was convinced the Crown Prince had approached Sansa to ask about her didn’t bother her.


	9. Countess of Wessex

Author’s Note: Hey, sorry for being MIA recently. I was away for several days without Internet.  
I’m also currently having a crisis about my writing (also this story, yes) and it just doesn’t feel good to write. I know I complain about my problems every author’s note, but this is something I really hate about my work.  
If you want to know exactly what, it’ll be my next blog post (coming soon).  
Check it out here: https://emilyann273239016.wordpress.com/  
It makes me insanely unhappy with everything that I write.  
Anyway, enjoy this!  
Also, due to a request from a German reader, there will be more German in this. For all non-German speakers, here’s the language guide:

Sansa? Bist du das? – Sansa? Is that you?

Ja, Papa, ich bin’s. Was gibts? – Yes, Dad, it’s me.

Es geht. – It’s okay.

Alles in Ordnung? – Everything alright?

Ich habe nur angerufen um dir zu sagen, dass du deine Hochzeitseinladung per email bekommen wirst. – I just called to tell you that you’ll be receiving your wedding invitation per email.

 

Sansa

How hard could it be not to understand homework?

Sansa sat in front of her desk, staring at the essay assignment she had for one of her classes. It was painfully simple, meaning she couldn’t use it as an excuse to text Jon.

She had promised herself back in High School that she wouldn’t ever be the girl pretending to be dumb to gain a guy’s attention, but she was not above actually asking for help.

So now, when she actually didn’t need help, she was very close to breaking her own morals.

Stop, she told herself. You can’t obsess like this about a guy that is probably not interested in you.

Looking outside, she saw that it was already late afternoon. The essay was her last piece of homework today and not due for a while, so she decided it could wait until after dinner.

Just as she was about to get up and lie on her bed for a little while, Margaery barged in.

“Hey Sansa,” she said, nodding at her desk. She was wearing a classy dress once again, with her hair up in a neat ponytail. ‘When the Prince discovers me, he must only hear the positives about me from others’, she had explained when Sansa asked why she was so obsessed with appearing a certain way.

Margaery dropped her bag near her bed and then whirled around to face Sansa again. “I was wondering if you could help me.” She reached into her bag and grabbed a bright pink planner. “The thing is, I got this essay topic from my teacher, and it’s, like, a complete mystery to me? Could you maybe look at it and tell me if it’s also unintelligible to you?”

Sansa was out of her seat before the last words were properly spoken. “Yes, absolutely, I’ll take a look at that for you!” she gasped, all in one breath.

Margaery stared as she handed her planner over to Sansa. “Oookay…” she added, before shrugging and looking in the mirror. “Well, if you figure out what my teacher wants, that’d be great. If not, don’t worry about it too much. I got to go, sorry.”

Sansa didn’t even ask where she had to go, she just let her walk out the door because she was right now reading the essay topic and it made no sense.

It. Was. Glorious.

Quickly, she grabbed her phone and, before she could think too much about it, had sent off a text to the number Jon had given her.

Hey, it’s Sansa. You gave me your number in a pub? Anyway, I have a question concerning an essay. Do you have a minute?

Holding her breath, she waited. And waited. And waited.

At long last, after she felt like she’d surely been standing in that place for hours on end even though it had probably only been a few minutes, her phone finally buzzed.

Hello Sansa, it’s Jon. Can you text me the essay demand?

Hurriedly, she took a picture of the aforementioned essay topic and sent it just as quickly. Only a moment later, Jon sent a variety of texts that she was sure to show Margaery. She only briefly scanned them.

Just as she thought it was over, another text flashed across the screen.

Hello now properly. How are you, Sansa?

She smiled and wrote back, Great. How about you?

But her phone stayed silent for the next couple of minutes. She sighed and put it down on her desk, retaking her place in the desk chair.

Then her phone rang.

For a second, she could only stare at it. It buzzed and rang while she stared in shock and disbelief. Then, quickly before the caller hung up, she grabbed it and answered.  


“Hello?”

“Sansa? Bist du das?”

Her heart sank. The voice of her father punched through her even though she should be happy to hear from her family.

“Ja, Papa, ich bin’s. Was gibt’s?”

Her father gave a rough little laugh. “Not much,” he said, switching to English. “How are you?”

“Es geht.”

“Alles in Ordnung?”

“Yes,” she said, sighing. “I just have a lot of schoolwork, is all.”

“Well, sweetheart, don’t stress yourself too much.”

She refrained mentioning that she had to keep a scholarship here after all.

“It’s fine,” she said instead. “Was something the matter?”

“No,” he answered, “ich habe nur angerufen um dir zu sagen, dass du deine Hochzeitseinladung per email bekommen wirst.”

Her aunt Lysa was marrying again, a man named Petyr.

“Okay, thanks,” she said. “I was wondering that it hadn’t arrived yet.”

She didn’t want to hurt her admittedly a little older father’s feelings by telling him he could have written that in an email, too. Or a text. Or just leave her to figure it out for herself when said email came.

“Well, love you all dearly,” Sansa added, giving the phone an air kiss. “Give my love to everyone. Talk to you soon?”

She heard her father’s responded declaration of love, then the resigning beep of the phone. He had hung up.

Sighing, she put her phone back down on her desk. Immediately, there was a pop-up notification.

You have two missed messages.

With trembling hands, she picked her phone up again. Yes, her hopes were fulfilled: they were both from Jon.


	10. Duke of Cambridge

Author’s Note: Sorry I’ve been gone so long. I had to make some critical decisions regarding my life, and depression hit me HARD. I could barely get out of bed, let alone write something. After, I just couldn’t face the blank page anymore. But I’m here now, because I CAN and I WILL. (This is still a really short chapter and basically just word vomit, so….. (and also writing about lovey texting hurts because the guy I like asked me about advice regarding asking my friend out for a date over text…. It’s actually a funny story.) I’m just a mess of emotions and I’ve been power-singing ‘Burn’ from Hamilton (also Nina’s part from In The Heights (I can find my way home. Without you), so this is gonna be intense. For me.  
I just realized how much I’m oversharing. You guys don’t want to read about my life, you’re here for the drama I’ve created by taking someone else’s character and putting them in a scenario that they would never find themselves in.  
…Yeah, I’m still gonna leave all that crap about my life in. Connect with your readers and all that.  
If you’ve skipped the author’s note, congrats. It was a good decision.

 

Sansa

I’m good, the first text stated, and Sansa held her breath as she went over to the second one. Internally, she chided herself. It’s just text messages, she told herself.

The second text read, Hey, this is kind of out of the blue, but can we hang out sometime?

Everything in her died at that small phrase. All her previous thoughts of not losing her chill over a guy had evaporated. All the chill had been lost.

He wanted to hang out with her.

All of her English knowledge had suddenly vanished and she felt the overwhelming urge to look up what ‘hang out’ meant.

How do you text back to someone asking such a question?

Yeah, sure?

I’m not a native English speaker, do you mean ‘hang out’ in a romantic or friendly way?

Are we friends?

Quickly, she looked up and around the room, and was hit with a wave of guilt when her eyes found Margaery’s part of the room. Margaery was the one obsessed with the prince. She had no right to see him as any more than a friend, perhaps even a means to an end for Margaery.

And if that thought didn’t hurt, she didn’t know what did.

Instead of writing him back anything, she put her phone down and went back to the homework she had been trying so hard not to understand just a few minutes ago. There was no reason to put it off anymore, so she started her outline for when she wanted to write what and what would require further research.

Still, Sansa’s eyes were again and again drawn to the little screen of her phone, her fingers itching to type something. Maybe just a little something. Maybe just one word.

This was getting ridiculous. She was getting no work done, instead opting to obsess over a guy instead, and she felt like one of those girls in movies that timed their response time to appear more aloof. Well, she wasn’t aloof (not at all), so why should she pretend like she was?

Taking her phone up again, she typed, Yeah, sure, just say when and where.

Then, realizing how dumb it sounded, she left some space and typed a second message.

Hang out in what way, exactly?

That definitely didn’t sound right, so she left some space again. In the end, she decided, she’d have plenty of options to choose from.

Do you want to be friends? Are we friends?

Too desperate, she decided.

I’ve never met a Crown Prince before. What’s the etiquette?

Nope. No way. She was absolutely not sending that.

Do you want me to bear your children?

God, they were getting worse. Sansa wasn’t even going to leave that to consider for later. She was going to delete it right now.

Quickly, she hit the delete button, or at least that’s what she thought she did. It only took a couple of seconds for the horrible realization to sink in.

Instead of deleting just the one, Sansa had sent them all as one big text message.


	11. Duchess of Cambridge

Jon

It had been a while. That didn’t mean anything, right? Sansa had sent him a task that she didn’t get, so she was probably doing homework right now.

Jon was definitely not nervous. After all, he was the Crown Prince of England. Nervous? Soon (hopefully not too soon), he’d have much bigger things to regulate.

Actually, come to think of it, he already had pretty huge responsibilities, and none of them include obsessing about a girl.

Okay, fine, maybe he was nervous that she wasn’t texting back.

He got up and went to look for Davos, just to have something to do. Davos, in an armchair reading a newspaper, raised both eyebrows at him. Jon knew that he must make a funny picture, messy hair and phone in hand, probably red as well.

“Should I ask?” asked Davos, amused. “I have Her Majesty on speed dial if you won’t talk to me.”

Jon would have responded with a great one-liner, really, but at that moment his phone buzzed. In record time, he had typed in the code and opened the new text message.

Yeah, sure, just say when and where.  
Hang out in what way, exactly?  
Do you want to be friends? Are we friends?  
I’ve never met a Crown Prince before. What’s the etiquette?  
Do you want me to bear your children?

He blinked a couple of times at what appeared to be several texts in one big one. Then he tilted his head as if the content could change if he looked at it from a different angle.

What on earth?

Davos was out of his chair and taking the phone from him before he could do much else. He was wearing his serious bodyguard look, which meant Jon must have looked truly disturbed, but as soon as Davos had read the message he probably assumed was a death threat or something, he started laughing.

“Wow, someone has never flirted.”

“What?” Jon sputtered. Sansa, flirting?

“Yeah, she’s thinking about you romantically, lucky sod. Although maybe unlucky, ‘cause she seems awkward.”

“Romantically?”

“Maybe she isn’t interested, but she’s mentioned it, so she could be.”

“Could be?”

“Stop being a parrot. It’s not a very attractive feature. But anyway, if I got a message like that, I’d assume if I asked for a date the answer would almost certainly be positive. If she asked you about kids, she’s thinking about you romantically. There might be a chance she’s hypothetically fantasizing, but I would take that chance.”

“Really?” Jon said skeptically. The messages seemed to him like she was unsure if she even wanted to be friends with him. “You’re not just saying that because my grandmother told you to get me making babies as soon as possible?”

“Maybe.” Davos winked. “I’d take that chance, is all I’m saying.”

**Author's Note:**

> You should comment.
> 
> (I see you not commenting. DO IT.)
> 
> No pressure :)


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